Page 12 of Duke of Destruction
This awful, hideous duke didn’t need Catherine to make things easy. He had taken any such effort and thrown them back in her face.
It was rather, well,freeing.
She clenched her fists in her skirts, any worries about wrinkles long forgotten.
“Perhaps you think that this insistence on being combative makes you seem more impressive—” She waved a hand at him, then cut off her sentence with a gasp when he caught her wrist. She hadn’t put her gloves back on after dinner, and neither had he; the warmth of his skin on hers was as startling as his audacity.
Indeed, even he looked surprised at his own daring.
“Release meat once,” she hissed.
He did not release her.
In fact, for the barest instant, his grip tightened and he leaned forward ever so slightly. She could practically see him considering pulling her closer, just to be difficult.
Goodness, his stubbornness lit her up. With anger. Naturally.
“You tried to strike me.”
She hadn’t, but she was about to. “I did not. Let?—”
“This is the problem,” he said, eyes narrowing. “You think you can just force your way?—”
“Force! You sir, have no right to?—”
They were talking over one another, each protest falling into the next, and Catherine felt her face growing hotter and hotter. Much more of this and she would be yelling—outright yelling. She wasn’t certain she’d even be able to stop herself, because he was still holding her wrist, and his fingers were warm, and she could feel the rough rasp of his calluses against the sensitive skin of her pulse point.
His eyes were intensely blue, though his pupils now overtook the irises so much that they looked nearly black. Something about that dark, furious glare pulled her in, and she almost swayed in his direction before she caught herself.
She didn’t look away, though. Couldn’t.
“Do notpushme, Catherine,” he growled.
“I will push you if I want to,” she retorted, lifting her chin. If this brought her face closer to his… Well. That was a price she had to pay.
“You won’t win,” he warned. Suddenly, his free arm was around her waist, showing her very clearly that he could push right back if he wanted to.
She sucked in a breath through parted lips. His eyes, in response, flickered down to her mouth.
His pupils grew wide, dark, and fathomless.
This was the moment, Catherine knew, that she ought to push away. They were practically touchingeverywhere. And yet, her hand against his shoulder wasn’t shoving him away.
It was just resting there. Not quite a caress—God forfend—but certainly not an act of aggression, either.
She waited just long enough for that sucked-in breath to come out on a sigh.
And then…
And then they werekissing.
His mouth was even warmer than his fingers. Bizarrely enough, this was the first thought that crossed Catherine’s mind. She wanted more of that warmth—that thought came second.
She took a half step forward, bringing her body flush against his. She’d never liked her height, which left her towering over mostof the ladies of theton, but now, she relished the way she didn’t have to crane her neck to reach him. His free arm, the one that wasn’t still holding her wrist, came to rest on her waist.
And through it all, they kissed. At first, it was just the press of mouths, but she gasped, and he moved his lips with hers, and then her mouth was open and so was his, slanting more firmly together. They each moved. It was like a dance.
Except no dance had ever made Catherine burn like this. No waltz had ever felt so scandalous, no partner ever so in tune with her movements. It was outrageous, how good it felt—at least twice as good as the outpouring of anger had felt.
